Our youngest child recently moved into her first post
college apartment. We knew this moment
would come and while we did not look forward to the day, we knew it was a
natural, healthy step for her to take. We prepared for the move when we stored our
old furniture this summer so she’d have a usable couch and loveseat for her new
home. The Friday after Thanksgiving my
husband loaded his pickup truck with furniture, my car was filled with kitchen
supplies and our daughter’s car was full of clothing and bedding. We drove to the building and made countless
trips up to her third floor apartment. As
the afternoon became evening we agreed to wait and move the couch and loveseat
the next day. Our aching legs and arms
were ready for a break.
The couch and loveseat while rather worn are still usable
and solidly built. They are overstuffed
and we had a difficult time moving them out of our house in July. They’d been stored at my mom’s house for the
past months but we still remembered the struggle we had getting them out our
door.
When we first entered the apartment we worried about the
small door size and a pesky wall we’d need to negotiate. As we measured the door we realized the
loveseat might fit through the door but we were certain the couch was not going
to fit. Our daughter fretted that her
budget would be broken if she had to purchase new furniture. I dreaded lugging them to the top of the
building to find they wouldn’t fit and the subsequent trip back down those
three flights of stairs.
That evening as my husband sat at the computer I heard him
laughing. He was watching videos of people
moving furniture, researching how to get a couch into a small space. As the next day dawned my husband had formed
a plan to use ropes to pull the furniture up the side of the building to
the balcony and in the large slider in our daughter’s apartment. I was skeptical
of the plan. “No good ideas start with a You-Tube search”, I declared as I insisted
he call my carpenter/handyman brother-in- law, the crazy laughter of the videos
still ringing in my ears.
When Dan agreed it was a good idea to pull the furniture
onto the balcony I was certain it was the most foolhardy idea ever sanctioned
by my usually wise brother in law. I
filled my car with the remaining things from Amy’s room and followed my husband
to Mom’s to load up the couch and loveseat.
Once we’d flipped the loveseat on top of the couch like an oversized
Tetris piece we headed off to pick up Dan, they guy with the rope and brawn for
this experiment.
As I followed the truck I fretted about the likelihood of
the furniture falling or a rope breaking, so many calamities I was sure could befall
us. The guys began to drive faster, I
saw the loveseat move, and it began to shift.
I watched in horror as the loveseat
lifted up.
I knew they needed
more straps!
Nobody ever listens to me!!!
The loveseat was airborne, and flipped over as it flew off
the truck. Landing on its legs, it slid
across the mercifully empty passing lane and came to a rest in the grassy
median.
I sat in my car, speechless as I watched Dan and Wayne pull
over, jog back to the loveseat and pick it up.
Amazing, the piece was still intact.
The legs were undamaged, the arms were still attached. The guys flipped it over re stacked it atop
the couch, added several more straps, previously unused, and walked sheepishly
back to the truck.
When we arrived at the apartment my inspection revealed one scuff
mark on the corner of the loveseat, but it was certainly usable. Dan quickly formed a slip knot, loped up the
stars, and caught the tossed rope. He
quickly pulled the rope hand over hand, within moments the couch and then the
love seat were sitting in the third floor apartment.
